giovedì 30 luglio 2015

SOPRAVVISSUTO ALLA BOMBA ATOMICA di Akiko Mikamo.

Esce oggi in Italia, pubblicato da Newton Compton in formato cartaceo e ebook, SOPRAVVISSUTO ALLA BOMBA ATOMICA di Akiko Mikamo.
Il drammatico racconto dell’uomo che si salvò dalla tragedia di Hiroshima, finalista al 2015 Hiroshima Book Grand Prix.
Giappone, 6 agosto 1945. Una qualsiasi mattina a Hiroshima. Shinji Mikamo ha diciannove anni e sta aiutando il padre a preparare la loro casa che deve essere demolita, quando un lampo accecante li sorprende.
Prima che Shinji possa comprendere ciò che sta accadendo, una palla di fuoco colossale divampa e poi spegne tutto. Una bomba atomica, a un chilometro circa di distanza, ha appena distrutto Hiroshima. Questo libro è la storia dell’uomo che sopravvisse miracolosamente alla prima bomba atomica. 70 anni dopo sua figlia Akiko ha dato voce alla sua tragedia personale in queste pagine di drammatica autenticità. Un racconto lucido e dettagliato della vicenda che ha causato migliaia di morti, determinato terribili conseguenze sulla salute e scosso le coscienze del mondo intero.
A 70 anni dallo scoppio della prima bomba atomica, un documento straordinario. Cosa è successo davvero quella maledetta mattina a Hiroshima?
Quel giorno cambiò la sua vita e la storia del mondo.

L'autrice Akiko Mikamo, che in quest'opera riporta la straordinaria testimonianza del padre, ha ricevuto nel 2014 il riconoscimento conferito per gli eccezionali servigi per la Pace nel Mondo da The World Peace and Prosperity Foundation, Londra, già conferito in precedenza a Malala Yousafzai nel 2012.


«Il messaggio d’amore di un sopravvissuto e il potere del perdono.»
Japan Today
SOPRAVVISSUTO ALLA BOMBA ATOMICA
Akiko Mikamo
Newton Compton
pag. 224 + 8 fotografie f.t.
I volti della storia
ISBN: 978-88-541-8204-2

mercoledì 3 giugno 2015

SCAVI DENTRO IL TEMPO DI MARIO MASSIMO - EDIZIONI EMPIRIA

Molto si discute oggi sulla funzione del linguaggio nella scrittura, ovvero su quale debba essere il linguaggio letterario. 
C’è chi sostiene che dovrebbe riprodurre quello della lingua parlata quotidianamente, tramite una mimesi pedissequa, affinché il lettore si riconosca e immedesimi in ciò che legge. C’è chi sostiene la validità dell’uso di un linguaggio propriamente letterario, forse artificiale rispetto alla lingua parlata, ma che contenga tutto il fascino della musicalità e l’espressività della parola e che può essere distillato solo da stilemi e figure retoriche che portano in sé un patrimonio millenario. 
E' forse vero che basta solo una bella storia, un intreccio sapientemente costruito e personaggi ben delineati per entrare nell’anima di un lettore? Cosa resterà di quel libro? 
Un banale riassunto di fatti.
Ma chi non sente ancora dentro di sé l’eco della voce narrante di una grande scrittore o di un grande poeta? Della Divina Commedia si tiene nel cuore il riassunto, o, piuttosto, alcuni versi sublimi che riecheggiano nella nostra mente anche nei momenti più disperati, come in “Se questo è un uomo” di Primo Levi, in cui il protagonista riesce a sopravvivere alla distruzione fisica e mentale del campo di concentramento ripetendo i versi di Dante? Contenuti e linguaggio si arricchiscono a vicenda e l’uno è imprescindibile dall’altro.

Nei libri di Mario Massimo, oltre a una raffinata capacità di descrivere situazioni e psicologie con veloci ma pregnanti tratti di penna, ritroviamo l’infinita cura per il linguaggio letterario, per il dettaglio lessicale, per la costruzione della frase, propria dei grandi testi letterari. Non si venga a dire che questa cura è tipica del tempo passato e che tutto ciò che risulti colto o vagamente complesso è proprio di altri tempi, perché basterebbe citare la scrittura ardita di un Saramago o di un Gesualdo Bufalino per smentire il tutto.
Siamo proprio sicuri che nel semplificare la scrittura a un livello elementare non ci priviamo del piacere della musicalità e della suggestione, quasi magica, del suono?  Perché è proprio una scrittura magica, alchemica, che scaturisce da una sapiente conoscenza degli strumenti narrativi e poetici, quella di Mario Massimo. E’ talmente densa e preziosa che basta un breve racconto per lasciare tracce significative di sé.
Come un testo letterario dovrebbe fare, perché la scrittura non è solo una storia.
Inoltre, questa raccolta ci testimonia come il racconto abbia ancora grandi potenzialità espressive e possieda la capacità di soddisfare pienamente il lettore, nonostante la diffidenza con cui venga visto da molti editori. 
Nei racconti di Mario Massimo si scava nel tempo e se ne traggono delle gemme preziose, ognuna delle quali ci propone un momento di dubbio in cui l’uomo, o la donna, si scontra con le antinomie dell’esistenza: uno schiavo ebreo alla ricerca di un testimone della morte di Cristo sul Golgota, la figlia di Brunetto Latini e un libro proibito ereditato dal padre, l’erede di una nobile famiglia napoletana del’500 che ritrova in sé il marchio di Caino, una suora scrittrice alle prese con i pregiudizi del tempo… In ognuno il lettore si ritrova perfettamente calato nel contesto storico e nello spirito di un’epoca ed è impressionante come lo scrittore sappia far rivivere atmosfere e modi di pensare di contesti tanto distanti tra loro. Ma tutti sono accomunati dalla sua capacità di riflettere sull’uomo con intelligenza e leggera ironia.
Temi importanti trattati con grande acume e profondità, ma anche levità, che costituiscono una lettura sempre gradevole e mai scontata, da consigliare assolutamente al lettore colto, orfano sempre più, in questi tempi di appiattimento culturale, di spunti interessanti, ma anche a chi voglia semplicemente scoprire una lettura piacevole e intelligente allo stesso tempo e che lasci una piccola eco dentro di sé.

Astrid Pesarino


Hanno scritto su Mario Massimo

Ha lo spessore di un classico la prosa dell'autore pugliese, ex docente e critico letterario. Che ci trasporta tra storia e immaginazione all'epoca del Cristo risorto, di Dante, del Grande Inquisitore. Scavando con minuzia nel sentire umano...
(Pier Mario Fasanotti, succedeoggi)

Mario Massimo si apre un varco dentro un’epoca remota, si muove agilmente in quei giorni lontanissimi, con una scrittura elegante e colta quanto elastica, capace di raccogliere voci, parole parlate, dettagli rivelatori. Viene da pensare a Zweig o a Schwob,ai loro “momenti fatali”, alle “vite immaginarie”. E colpisce – di questi racconti – la grazia unita alla profondità di scavo – non già in secoli perduti, né in anni o mesi, ma in una manciata di ore e di minuti. Un libro consapevolmente inattuale, che fa della sua inattualità – di contenuti, di stile – la sua forza di oggetto raro».
(Paolo di Paolo, flanerì)

Sull'autore

Mario Massimo è nato nel 1947 a Foggia, dove vive; ha insegnato nei licei. Ha pubblicato: Chronicon, Il Calendario, Firenze, 1987 (poesie); In fondo al giorno, Il Calendario, Firenze, 1987 (poesie); Prede, Perrone, Roma,2013 (poesie); La morte data, Manni, Lecce, 2009 (racconti); Tre schegge di tempo, Puntoacapo, Novi Ligure, 2011 (racconti); Nella scia, in Racconti sotto l'ombrelloneII, L'Erudita, Roma, 2013; Roma "in giallo", in Il Ponte, LXVII (2011), 4 (critica); La taverna, il castello, gli emblemi, in Orlando esplorazioni, III, 2013 (critica); scrive su Flanerì e Patria Letteratura.


SCAVI DENTRO IL TEMPO di Mario Massimo
Edizioni Empiria 2015
pagg. 104


venerdì 22 maggio 2015

DIORAMA DI SERGIO SOZI - SPLEN EDIZIONI

Diorama è sinonimo di veduta panoramica, ma è anche una forma di spettacolo costituita da quadri o vedute di grandi dimensioni.
È il caso di questa raccolta di racconti, ai quali il lettore aggiungerà colori, movimento, suoni e volumi, evocando così una strana ragazza bosniaca condannata allʼavversione per lʼacqua, un uomo che ancora non si è svegliato, un critico letterario che dà una inaspettata svolta alla propria vita, un creativo pubblicitario forse fallito, un giovane ostile a tutta la letteratura eccetto un libro, il manager Bongi catapultato in un paese incredibile, Alice e il suo poeta e molti altri personaggi... reali o verosimili proprio come noi tutti.

Nel raffinato ed inconfondibile stile di Sergio Sozi, ecco tredici storie vaneggianti, riflessive e letterariamente costruite sul filo della realtà, che colorano di grottesco, surreale, lirico e onirico ogni voce, movenza, sensazione di personaggio. Tredici delicate, europee, imprevedibili e minuscole commedie all’italiana. Tredici sogni coerenti e verosimili trascritti per esser assaporati, inalati, toccati. Tredici delicate e colte partiture di pura narrativa con la testa nella tradizione, le mani nell’umanità di sempre e i piedi fra cocci e monitor del nostro secolo.

Diorama, che sarà in libreria e in versione e-book nei bookstore online è pubblicato nella collana Caleidoscopi di SPLEN, una casa editrice di recente fondazione che ha come mission la pubblicazione di opere di tangibile valore letterario.  

Hanno scritto su Sergio Sozi

Su "Il Menu" - ed. Castelvecchi

"Sozi gioca ad un’apocalisse decisamente brillante e inedita."
(Chiara Mattioni, "Il Piccolo")
"Un bell’esempio di critica della cultura; condotta, piacendo al cielo, con stile soave e un sorriso non cinico ben visibile a chi legge.''
(Giovanni Choukhadarian, "Il Giornale")


Su "Il maniaco e altri racconti" ed. Valter Casini

"Si apprezza in Sozi lo sforzo di una scrittura che non si accontenta di se stessa e che è pronta a ritornare su di sé, che porta il lettore a concentrarsi sulla lettera e ad apprezzarne il movimento, spesso sussultorio. C’è anche un motivo sotterraneo – direi quasi allegorico – che scorre nelle vene di questi racconti: quello letterario, quello della condizione odierna della letteratura, della difficoltà di dar voce a parole semplici. Mi sembra riuscitissimo, in questo senso, il primo racconto di Sozi, che dà il titolo all’intera raccolta. Un maniaco-letterato che viene ricercato per lettere che, in realtà, comunicano con semplicità sensi e valori dell’esistenza (...). Bel libro, dunque, anche raffinato in certi passaggi esilaranti e rocamboleschi."
(Marco Gatto, Bottega Scriptamanent)

DIORAMA di Sergio Sozi
Splen Edizioni, 2015
pag. 144
copertina di Clara Tumino
anteprima scaricabile dal sito della casa editrice www.splen.it 

lunedì 11 maggio 2015

SULLA ROTTA DEI KHAZARI. IN VIAGGIO VERSO LA GEORGIA.


JASMINA MIHAJLOVIC
May seems to be a very busy and exciting month for Tempi Irregolari. After attending the forthcoming Book Fair in Torino (14th -17th May), where we are introducing our author’s and Client’s latest titles to major International Publihers, we’ll fly to TBILISI, Georgia, with JASMINA MIHAJLOVIC who has been invited by INTELEKTI PUBLISHING HOUSE to support the launch of its edition of MILORAD PAVIC’s works.
During the INTERNATIONAL BOOK FAIR of TBILISI, INTELEKTI will launch the Georgian translation of six among the main works by Serbian author MILORAD PAVIC: DICTIONARY OF KHAZARS, LANDSCAPE PAINTED WITH TEA, LAST LOVE IN CONSTANTINOPLE, UNIQUE ITEM, SECOND BODY, SEVEN DEADLY SINS. Besides these titles, INTELEKTI will launch its edition of JASMINA MIHAJLOVIC’s latest work: ON THE SHORES OF THE KHAZARS’ SEA, first published in 2014 in Serbia by Laguna, and already translated in Russian (Azbooka) and Azerbaijan. This novel is inspired to the journey of Mrs. Mihajlovic to Baku and by her love story with Pavic, and it includes two short works written by both the authors.
We are glad to announce that we have just received a strong interest in three titles by Mrs. Mihajlovic from one of the major Chinese Publishers, meanwhile we are going to sign in Tbilisi a new agreement with Intelekti for two more titles by Milorad Pavic.
We thank you very much INTELEKTI for their interest and for having made this great project become true. Also, INTELEKTI announced and organized a wonderful program for Mrs. Mihajlovic, who will be special guest in the Publishing House where she will meet editors and the staff who worked to the project and where the edition will be presented. On May 27th there will be a reception at The National Parliamentary Library of Georgia where the Mrs Jasmina's book will be presented to readers and journalist; a special exhibition in honor of Mrs. Mihajlovic by pianist Ketevan Chkhartishvili will follow the event. On May 28th the  presentation of Mrs. Mihajlovic's book and 6 titles by MIlorad Pavic will take place on the main stage of book fair. After that, the author will sign the books and in the evening she’ll be guest at the Tbilisi International Book Fair opening party. The very next day, at THE WRITERS’ HOUSE, Mrs. Mihajlovic will speak about Milorad Pavic's life and works and will launch the INTELEKTI’s edition of her novel and Pavic’s six ones. This will be a great presentation attended by publishing house’s staff, by all the translators of the books, and editors.
The Serbian Ambassador in Azerbaijan, H.E. Nebojša Rodić, will join the events.
We are pleased to remind our readers and followers about our latest sales of Pavic’s works: Romania, Bulgaria (a special limited edition with new illustrations by Yassen Panov), Turkey, Albania, France, China. And of course Georgia.
We are actually excited for this forthcoming event and we wish to thank INTELEKTI’s staff for their efforts in realizing this great project, the very best we could expect for these great Authors. Also, this journey will be for our Agency an opportunity to start a new cooperation with INTELEKTI, as agent of four among their Georgian authors’ list: Nugzar Shataidze, Tamaz Chiladze, Besik Kharanauli, Zviad Kvaratskhelia who we are going to meet.



Jasmina Mihajlovic con Milorad Pavic nella casa di Belgrado
Maggio si annuncia un mese importante per la Tempi Irregolari. Dopo il SALONE DI TORINO infatti voleremo a TBILISI (24 - 31 Maggio) dove saremo ospiti con JASMINA MIAHJLOVIC per il lancio dell’importante progetto editoriale che INTELEKTI ha dedicato a MILORAD PAVIC.
In occasione della fiera internazionale di TBILISI verrà presentata la nuova edizione georgiana di 6 opere di MILORAD PAVIC: IL DIZIONARIO DEI KHAZARI, PAESAGGIO DIPINTO CON IL TE, ULTIMO AMORE A COSTANTINOPOLI, IL SECONDO CORPO, PEZZO UNICO, SETTE PECCATI CAPITALI.
A questi si aggiunge l’opera di ispirazione autobiografica di JASMINA MIHAJLOVIC, SUL MARE DEI KHAZARI, che, dopo essere stata pubblicata lo scorso anno in Serbia, abbiamo venduto in Russia (Azbooka), Georgia (Intelekti) e Azerbaijan, dove è da poco stata pubblicata.
Proprio in questi giorni una manifestazione di interesse è arrivata dalla Cina per questo titolo e altri due romanzi di Jasmina Mihajlovic, mentre INTELEKTI ha presentato un’offerta per altri due titoli di MILORAD PAVIC: IL LATO INTERNO DEL VENTO e PICCOLA STORIA DI BELGRADO. 
Copertina dell'edizione azera de
Su Mare di Khazari di J. Mihajlovic
Il programma per il lancio dell’edizione georgiana è quanto mai imponente: si aprirà con un ricevimento e una presentazione presso la casa editrice INTELEKTI alla presenza di giornalisti, e prevede poi la partecipazione a diversi show televisivi, un concerto in onore di Jasmina Mihajlovic alla National Parlamentary Library of Georgia, tenuto dalla pianista Ketevan Chkhartishvili - LINK. Jasmina Mihajlovic sarà ospite della cerimonia d’apertura della Fiera Internazionale del Libro, e sono previste due sedute per la firma degli autografi, mentre la sera 28 maggio, sarà ospite della Ricevimento inaugurale della Fiera del Libro di Tbilisi.  Sono inoltre previste due conferenze, di cui una alla CASA DEGLI SCRITTORI - LINK  alla presenza dei lettori e dei principali editors georgiani e fra quanti partecipano alla fiera Internazionale di TBILISI, alle quali JASMINA MIHJLOVIC parlerà della sua vita con Milorad Pavic, della sua opera e di Hyperfiction e metaletteratura.

Agli eventi prenderà parte anche l’Ambasciatore Serbo in Azerbaijan, sua Eccellenza Nebojša Rodić.
Ricordiamo le ultime cessioni di diritti di Opere di MILORAD PAVIC: ROMANIA, ALBANIA, TURCHIA, FRANCIA, BULGARIA (edizione speciale limitata con illustrazioni originali di Yasen Panov), CHINA.

Attualmente IL DIZIONARIO DEI KHAZARI è tradotto in 40 lingue e ha superato le 110 edizioni nel mondo, oltre a essere stato adattato per teatro per uno spettacolo che ha trionfato a Belgrado, Ljubljana e Mosca.

lunedì 4 maggio 2015

Corso di Scrittura on line di ANTHONY VALERIO

We wish to inform all our follower that Mr. Anthony Valerio has just released an animated, supportive 2 + hour video on the art of writing. Here is the link: 


Anthony Valerio, editor at McGraw-Hill, taught creative writing at the New York University, the City University of New York and Wesleyan University. He has been the editor of World wide famous author Shel Silverstein published in Italy by Salani and Orecchio Acerbo, and of Toni Cade Bambara. The Italian edition of his biography of Anita Garibaldi is published by Gallucci. 
About the course.
Learn the basic concepts and methods that you will need to become the writer you wish to be. Acquire the knowledge of the proper writing tools to use, good habits to precede your writing session, how to find the appropriate Narrative Voice for each of your projects, tips on how to organize your writing day or night, a proven method to break through Writer's Block, ways to find your subject matter and how to go from one work to the next. Through all of this useful, often amusing, information, you will be guided by a seasoned, caring professional author and editor. 
I am determined to share all that I have learned in the publishing and writing worlds, all for the purpose of serving your needs, whether it be to improve, hone, and sustain your writing skills; or to provide you with step-by-step processes of publishing your work; or to satisfy your curiosity of what a professional writer's life is like. I have designed this course to allay any of your trepidations about the world and practice of writers and writing and to provide you with the day-to-day workable means of becoming the best writer you can possible be.
  • Become a happy and successful writer through the lessons, techniques, and professional guidance provided in this course.
  • Discover the kind of writer you wish to be. Find your Brand.
  • Learn proven methods that cultivate your creative self.
  • Find out how to publish E books and/or trade paperbacks. The content of an effective cover letter. Resources on finding agents, editors and publishers. Learn, practice and master the three distinct stages for writing a successful work either of fiction or nonfiction.
  • Learn the literary devices that master writers have used to achieve their great effects.

giovedì 30 aprile 2015

ANTHONY VALERIO: JOHN DANTE'S INFERNO. 26 ANNI VISSUTI CON HUGH HEFNER ALLA PLAYBOY MANSION

Siamo lieti di annoverare fra gli autori rappresentati dalla Tempi Irregolari ANTHONY VALERIO. Il primo racconto di Anthony Valerio fu pubblicato nel 1977 in PARIS REVIEW con il titolo “The Skyjacker”. Anthony Valerio ha lavorato per molti anni come editor presso McGraw-Hill e successivamente presso altre case editrici. E’ stato editor di autori quali Shel Silverstein – autore e poeta americano tradotto in tutto il mondo – e di Toni Cade Bambara.
Dopo avere pubblicato altri racconti in Random House e The Viking Press, ha scritto The Mediterranean Runs Through Brooklyn pubblicato nel 1982 e in Italia da editrice Zona nel 2010. Da questo titolo è poi nato Valentino and the Great Italians (1986), seguito da BART: A Life of Bartlett Giamatti (1991). Anita Garibaldi, a Biography è stato pubblicato nel 2000, poi tradotto in italiano e pubblicato da Gallucci nel 2011. Ancora sono seguiti The Little Sailor, a Romantic Thriller(2006); Toni Cade Bambara’s One Sicilian Night (2007). L’opera più recente - DIRITTI DISPONIBILI - è JOHN DANTE’S INFERNO, a Playboy’s Life, un memoir in stile narrativo che racconta la vita di John Dante il celebre playboy di origine italiana che per 26 anni è vissuto alla PLAYBOY MANSION con Hugh Haffner e 40 fra le più belle donne al mondo, diventando una delle colonne portanti di PLAYBOY e amico di nomi celebri che intorno alla Mansion ruotavano: Shel Silverstein, Lenny BruceLinda Lovelace, Don Adams, James Caan.


We welcome Mr. Anthony Valerio among our represented authors. 
Anthony Valerio’s first published story, “The Skyjacker”, was published in the Paris Review (1977.) He was a staff editor first at McGraw-Hill then at other major publishing houses. Anthony feels fortunate to have edited wonderful writers such as Shel Silverstein and Toni Cade Bambara. His own books began with The Mediterranean Runs Through Brooklyn in 1982 (Italian edition Zona editore, 2010) which opened out into Valentino and the Great Italians (1986), followed by BART: A Life of Bartlett Giamatti (1991). Anita Garibaldi, a Biography was published in 2000 (Italian edition Gallucci editore 2011). Followed by The Little Sailor, a Romantic Thriller(2006); and Toni Cade Bambara’s One Sicilian Night (2007). His most recent work is JOHN DANTE’S INFERNO, a Playboy’s Life - RIGHTS AVAILABLE.
    “For my work to appear in school readers and taught in universities has
been a great honor.”
    He lectures around the United States and Italy. He has taught creative writing at New York University, the City University of New York and Wesleyan University. He is a member of PEN and The Author’s Guild

martedì 28 aprile 2015

STEFANO PASTOR SI AGGIUNGE AGLI AUTORI RAPPRESENTATI DALL'AGENZIA

Stefano Pastor è nato a Ventimiglia nel 1958 e dal 2011 vive a Cento, in provincia di Ferrara. Appassionato di scrittura fin da giovane, vi si è dedicato completamente dal 2008, dopo vent’anni passati nel commercio di musica e film.
Il suo primo successo l’ha ottenuto vincendo il Premio Letterario Città di Ventimiglia con il romanzo HOLIDAY, pubblicato dall’Editrice Zona col titolo di RITORNO A VENTIMIGLIA nel maggio 2010. Sempre nel 2010 ha vinto il Premio Le Fenici indetto da Montag col thriller L’INTERVISTA. Sono seguiti una decina di altri titoli, pubblicati con diversi editori. Nel 2011 vince con il romanzo L’ILLUSIONE il Torneo IoScrittore, indetto dal gruppo Gems, ed è pubblicato da Fazi col titolo IL GIOCATTOLAIO. Ultimo romanzo pubblicato il thriller avventuroso FIGLI CHE ODIANO LE MADRI, sempre per l’editore Fazi, nel novembre 2013.



Stefano Pastor was born in Ventimiglia in 1958 and later he moved to Cento, near Ferrara, where he is living. Passionate about writing from his early age, he has been completely devoted himself to it since 2008, after twenty years spent in the business of music and movies.

He reached his first success winning the Literary Prize City Ventimiglia with the novel HOLIDAY, published by Editrice Zona with the title of COMING BACK TO VENTIMIGLIA in May 2010. Also in 2010 he won the Prix Le Fenici called by Montag with the thriller THE INTERVIEW. After that, he wrote a dozen other titles, published by different publishers. In 2011, he awarded IoScrittore Tournament, organized by the Gems group, with his novel THE ILLUSION that was published by Fazi with the title THE TOYMAKER. In November 2013, Fazi published his last novel, CHILDREN WHO HATE MOTHERS.

domenica 8 febbraio 2015

THE MARK - romanzo di BLAZE MINKEVSKI

Pubblichiamo alcuni stralci in traduzione inglese del romanzo THE MARK - IL BERSAGLIO dell'autore Macedone Blaze Minevski. Pubblicato nel 2007 a Skopje e poi in Serbia, Russia ed prossimamente in Armenia, è stato nominato miglior romanzo dell'anno 2007.
Storia dall'impianto solo apparentemente statico è un riflessione sul senso della vita, la religione e la letteratura. Sulle opposte rive di un fiume durante la guerra Balcanica due cecchini si fronteggiano e si tengono l'un l'altro sotto tiro. L'io narrante si rivolge con quello che in realtà è un lungo monologo mentale al suo nemico, che è l'opposto di ciò che lui. Riconosce infatti nel suo mirino il volto di una donna, mussulmana a cui lui dà il nome fittizio della protagonista di un'antica ballata, Doruntina. Le narra così, con la consapevolezza che il primo a sparare sarà il primo a uccidere, la propria vita e i propri amori: tre donne che si sovrappongono nella sua memoria a tre figure della letteratura mondiale: Anna Karenina, Natasha Rostova e Madame Bovary. Con uno stile caratterizzato dall'uso di figure retoriche e stilemi tipici poesia il romanzo riflette sull'assurdità della guerra e pone già dalle prime pagine un interrogativo quanto mai attuale: i due protagonisti sono l'uno contro l'altro in un paesaggio primaverile, sulle rive di un fiume coperte di fiori e farfalle, uno squarcio di Paradiso: ma quale paradiso? Quello cristiano o quello musulmano? E se è il medesimo perché i due si fronteggiano e di combattono come fa l'io-narrante con i suoi amici di un tempo? 

Alle molte domande sollevate dal romanzo attraverso flashback e citazioni dai tre romanzi le cui eroine si sostituiscono alle donne amate dal protagonista narrante, risponde il secco suono di uno sparo. 

Segue un'intervista dell'autore a Dalkey Archive Press


BLAZE MINEVKSI - THE MARK

1.

            The sun is standing over the ruined fortress, as I turn my sniper rifle across the river, and there I see her; she’s also looking straight at me; she had me in her sight long before I discovered her. She could’ve killed me any time she wanted, I think, gasping for air in the grass that rises in front of me like murky water; my heart skips inside my camouflage shirt, though I think it’s a grasshopper. I see her in my optical sight, clear as a prom picture; she’s watching me too. She has a big blue eye, like the sky over the fortress; I even see the thin layer of moisture in the corner of her eye, as I realise that she has been looking at me for a while without blinking. When I take aim, I close my left eye; she keeps hers open, even though she can’t see me with it, she’s too far away. I see her blonde hair, which falls away into the primroses, as if there is no end in sight. I can’t tell where it ends and where they begin:
            - You could have killed me before I could find you in the primroses, I say, the primroses, I tell you, and you blink with your eye as if to confirm, as if you are reading my lips. I can see that you are holding your finger on the trigger, I say, your finger, I tell you, just as I am holding mine now; I’m sure you can hit me just as easily as I could strike you. I know that you can see me as if I’m right there in front of you, while the sun glimmers over the ruined fortress and wonders in disbelief.  Time also passes through our eyes as something alien, as something past, I say, past, I tell you, and you are even smirking, looking straight through my long vowels. I speak softly, of course, or maybe I’m just opening my mouth, watching how the left corner of your lips is slightly trembling, as if you understand, as if you feel sorry for me: I will call you Doruntina, I say, while you look at me through your optical sight and can read your name from the movement of my lips. Your hair is full of yellow petals, as if primroses are growing from you and everywhere around you, even in the air, it seems to me; I’ll call you Doruntina, I repeat a little bit louder, letter by letter, while  you  smile again, blinking with your left eye, this means you agree, I say, you agree, I tell you. Only now do I hear the babble of the stream passing down by me,  and also of the stream that springs from the fortress and flows by you on its way to the same place in the river between us, beneath us.  Listening to the babble, suddenly, as if in a dream, I become a story telling itself, , because life, I say, life, I tell you  is that which is told,.
A story, I say, a story, I tell you, and I can see that you are following me, reading from my lips, and there’s the smile again, while your finger is still pressed on the trigger, just in case: how fast time flies, Doruntina, I say, time, I tell you, and yet nothing changes. If I go down my stream to get to you, your people will get me; if you go down your stream to get to me, my people will get you, I say, and you blink with your left eye, this means you agree. You already know everything, Doruntina, while the river beneath us is flowing unstoppably, that same river, the river that also once took her away like a secret. When I turned around, I could only see her hat skipping on the waves and giggling. The hat was giggling, while the river flowed unstoppably, just like now
Watching you smile sadly with the left corner of your mouth, I think of suggesting that we should wait for the night and then go together down to the river, I say, the river, I tell you, but all of a sudden I feel a strong kick to the heel of my boot, I say, the boot, I tell you, and someone lies down next to me, cursing right behind this cotton thistle, Doruntina You can see now, I say, see, I tell you, that without moving, just with the corner of my left eye, I glimpse the binoculars and the crooked nose of Hothead Hawk.
            “What are you waiting for?” he asks. “Shoot!”


2.
(….)
            Now, what more can I tell you, Doruntina; when I found you in the primroses, I found my life; I say my life, not my death, though it may sound silly. What I want to say is that before I was brought here, to the warzone, the worst had already happened. A great tragedy had happened, something that entirely ruined my career and life, if you could even call it a life. My first and only novel, which I had published right after returning from Iowa, I say, a novel, I tell you, which was loudly hailed as a masterpiece and immediately translated in all neighbouring countries, all of a sudden came crashing down, careened into the abyss, disappeared together with me, Doruntina. All that was left was my name in crimson letters. Later, if I have time, and time is you, I will tell you what happened, what faith befell me. I can see you smiling, see that you read my lips and understand me. I see your powerful sniper rifle in the primroses; it shimmers, laid in your fair hand; it’s resting peacefully on your forearm, tender and slim as a gladiolus. Yet I know that the moment the red spot of the laser sight falls on its target, like a mark on the forehead, then it’s all over, even though the victim may be a whole mile away from you and, of course, completely unaware that he’s sitting in front of you like a photo from a yearbook. You have a powerful sniper sight, Doruntina. I see, I say, I see, I tell you, and I know. I’m sure it’s a Heckler & Koch SG-1, an immaculate killing machine; you just gently pull the trigger and the bullet knows what to do. But you are not pulling the trigger … and still not pulling it, not pulling it at all … Why, Doruntina, what are you waiting for? I ask, opening for a moment my left eye which you see, as you can see; I open mine and you blink a few times with yours and breathe out a sigh into the primroses: the yellow petals shudder as if standing in the rain, as butterflies excited in flight. Behind you, left of the fortress and just above the ruined church of Saint George the Forerunner, brashly towers the minaret of the mosque. Right now I listen, as do you, to the muezzin kneeling in the gallery calling to prayer all those not in the trenches. The imam, I say, the imam, I tell you, or maybe it’s just a loudspeaker. It’s Friday, and noon at that, probably. I guess that very soon all those not staying in the trenches will enter the mosque; they will line up before that semicircular recess in the front wall that everyone has to face, because this is the only way they could be turned towards Mecca, to start murmuring with open palms, touching their ears with their thumbs. They’ll whisper “Allahu Akbar”, if I’m not mistaken they’ll recite their prayers, I say, and then they’ll bow. God is the greatest, but life is all we’ve got and losing it is the greatest loss for any man. Except for me, of course.
            Professor Steve Liptoff from the International Writers’ Workshop in Iowa City wanted us to study all religions in order to write a short story on heaven and hell. I can admit, right here and now, that I really like your heaven, and you already know that it is a garden watered by numerous rivers, maybe just like the one that we can see here, if only for a moment we looked down into the bottom of the gorge. But we can’t, because we mustn’t lose our sights, even though both my and your streams flow into the same river, Doruntina, while all around us grow luscious fruits and flowers, just like in heaven. Is this the heaven dreamt of by those with long beards, who go to meet death by our snipers, fighter planes and artillery with joy? Under the shades in paradise, people drink the wine that was forbidden to them on earth: wine that doesn’t intoxicate. The cups are served to them by handsome boys, while seductive black-eyed maidens tend to their every pleasure, I say, pleasure, I tell you, and I can see you smiling while your hair is flickering on your shoulders, like a sly breeze drifting along your tight body.
I once again open my left eye, I say, eye, I tell you , and for a second I can see how far away you are when I see you with the one eye, and yet how close you are when I see you with the other. I quickly shut it, frightened by the great distance, and now once again I see you lying in the primroses with the sniper rifle turned towards me. Yes, Doruntina, it’s the newest Heckler, no doubt about it, Heckler, I tell you! I know each part by heart; even in primary school I was obsessed and collected any and all information about guns published in newspapers and weapons periodicals, so much so that I became a member of the shooting club “Phalanx”. I would carve flowers on the target with a sniper rifle. I remember that, with an Italian Beretta, I could carve a small primrose with six bullets at a distance of six hundred metres. Smelling like primroses, at that. A sight to behold. I would look at it through my scope, holding my breath. Hothead Hawk, my captain, also knows how to do this; he was a champion shooter with a small calibre rifle. Yes, a Heckler, Doruntina, a Heckler! Unlike the scope of my Black Arrow, which can magnify you eightfold in my eyes, you can see me magnified tenfold. You can poke me in the eye; you can see that I haven’t shaved for three days; you can see that my nose is swollen like a tomato, either from mosquito or spider bites, doesn’t matter; you can even see the mark in between my brows, I say, mark, I tell you, a scar left from the time when I was all alone and wanted to be marked and punished to catch up with my beloved ones in heaven. I failed to join them in heaven, but I managed to grasp that heaven exists only as a means to understanding life on earth.

3.
(…)
Suddenly, the little butterfly that had been supping on the dew of the primroses around you flew through the thistle. This means I’m probably still alive, I tell myself. The bearded man stood up and, waving his machine gun in my direction, sank into the hazelnut grove; he resurfaced the next moment at the eastern wall of the fortress; there is obviously a tunnel leading from the left bank of the river to the interior of the ruins, and ending in the mosque. So, Hothead Hawk has been right all along when he said that you defend the bank with only few snipers, who are constantly being substituted without any noticeable movement on the front line: “They are tying flashlights on dogs at night, and you numbnuts, for fuck’s sake, start shooting at ’em and reveal your positions; that’s why they’re killing you like flies,” he would say, standing over the monument of the unknown hero. I can hear his voice now down in the trench, while you exhale, Doruntina, your sad smile appearing once again in the left corner of your mouth. And it’s such a beautiful day, I say, a beautiful day, I tell you. I hear the babble of the streams, mine and yours; they are cheerfully flowing down beneath my and your trench; if we look down, we’ll see them embrace under the rocks, at the bottom of the gorge. Listen to them kissing, I say, kissing, I tell you, despite everything and despite all; listen to them running like lovers under the willows, to the sea, to the oceans, doesn’t matter, just as long as it is far away from here. Watching you through my scope, my body is banging and burrowing into the ground beneath me, trembling and caving in, my shivers are running around like ants, restlessly rushing in and out of my chest; I don’t know if I’m alive anymore or just narrating as if I’m alive. Still, thank you for this quiet sunset, for the mountain rising behind you, and for the fortress, too; for the sky, for the river, for the hazelnut with the slumping bough like an umbrella, for the butterfly and the primroses with the golden petals and the smell of honey coming across the river in waves with your smile, landing here, Doruntina, I say, here, I tell you, before me and this thistle shaking like a coward with fear. If I am alive, I could make primrose tea; it settles the nerves and heart; it’s great for insomnia. Just imagine a beautiful winter; a small cottage standing in the middle of an empty field, while outside a curious, brooding snow falls. The steam is rising from the tea before us, we are just sitting in silence and watching each other; we live without sensing that we live; the shadows of the falling snowflakes are caressing our faces; you are transparent like the steam ascending from the cup; I don’t dare touch you, because you might disappear if I do. Even though I don’t see this, I have a feeling that a blond-haired man is peering through the window, with a mean goatee that makes him look like a Yankee from the Lincoln era. The snow keeps falling outside; the same brooding snow; the snow falls and all enemies show their own tracks, Doruntina, this thought comes to my mind, I say, their tracks, I tell you, as I gaze at your face flickering above the table. I believe that we are still in love, because that is what the ground beneath us, the sky above our heads, the trees, the snow and that man peering through the window want: I don’t want to have your body; I want your face, which will offer me your body as proof of your love, I think of telling you, but the wolves circling around the house suddenly let out a terrible howl and your face starts to disappear through the beams of the roof. I open the window and I can see a trace in the snow of a face of a man with a mean goatee: Every man ends up in his own forgotten story, I say to myself, a story, I tell myself, as I watch how the snow slowly fills the imprint of the face in the snow. I have your face in the cup; you have my face on the window. We live, without sensing life. I see that you understand me, yet I don’t know what I wanted to say; all I know is that these are confusing times; reality is a memory, memory is reality; the river doesn’t exist in our optical sights, but we share the same heaven and the same hell, because both heaven and hell are states of mind, not physical locations. We live in the memories of the dead, that’s why we don’t sense that we live. Slowly, thus, we evaporate in thin air together with the tea.
            Then, at the end, we become just a small fragrant cloud over Iowa.


© Blaze Minevki
Riproduzione vietata. Per tutti i diritti contattare Tempi Irregolari.

Part of the interview for Dalkey Archive Press, 2011


Dalkey Archive Press: Do you see your work as fitting into the traditions of European fiction, or indeed any national or regional tradition?

MINEVSKI: I can say that Macedonian fiction, especially the novel, never had time to follow any European, national, nor regional tradition. Why? Because the first Macedonian novel was written only 60 years ago, therefore we did not have centuries of time for romanticism, realism, modernism and so on. So, in my opinion Macedonian fiction is an alchemic fiction that does not recognize tradition due to not having time. We mix, as in alchemic caldron, romanticism with modernism and postmodernism, fiction with reality, amazing with bizarre, fantasy with reality, tale with history, death with life… At the same time Macedonians have rich narrative tradition, folklore, people’s songs and tales that date back at least ten centuries in time. We have the first short story on the Balkans about the stork man, which has discovered the magic realism long time ago, that actually is our unique space of collective memory and creative hope. That why here nobody is amazed if a men turns into stork, because we know that there is a wonder water that will turn him back into man, if he deserves it of course. In our folk tales dead are never dead enough to be gone forever, not to be able to fight again and again, while the donkeys fly like a helicopters long time before the helicopters are invented or the flying carpet over Macondo is created. You can check actually, that in the cult Latin-American novel ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ the alchemist Melquiades comes from Macedonia. Marquez probably knew about the alchemic core of Macedonia, which is the core of Macedonian fiction. Therefore, my novels and short stories, representing an echo of the story about our stork men, know the meaning of south and north, of west and east, which is maybe enough for a good flight without prejudice.

Dalkey Archive Press: Are there any exciting trends, movement, or schools in contemporary Macedonian fiction? Who do you feel are the overlooked contemporary authors writing in Macedonia who should be more widely read and translated?

MINEVSKI: In my opinion all of the Macedonian fiction is overlooked. It is obscure compared to the world’s literature movements, but at least ten contemporary Macedonian writers deserve international presentation. I can think of around twenty great novels that unfortunately are closed in the cage of our small language space, not having the opportunity to communicate with the rest of the world. On the other hand the publishing capacity in Macedonia is small, around 500 copies for edition, which is even less than some hand written copies in the middle century. If the best Macedonian writers would have the opportunity to reach the readers around the world, Macedonian fiction will leave the darkness and the quietness of its own cage. Macedonian fiction deserves to be revealed, not only for itself, but for the good of the world’s fiction at all.

Dalkey Archive Press: Who are the contemporary European writers from other countries that are writing compelling fiction?

MINEVSKI: Unfortunately, for the readers compelling fiction become writers with short courses in creative writing and eager for fame. I’m talking about the so called ‘bestsellers’, that in the past could only be found as paper romances in the kiosks, but nowadays are entering the bookstores as masterpieces of the literature. In this situation of blistering marketing assault, the real literature and the real worth literature pieces have to find the side entrances. Considering the superior European fiction, starting for example with great Salman Rushdie and Umberto Eco, to Hanif Kureishi, Misel Uelbek and Orhan Pamuk, their translations in Macedonian language usually come very late so we’re forced to read them either in original or translations in other languages.           

Dalkey Archive Press: Are there enough publishing outlets in Macedonia for contemporary fiction? Is there a market for literary fiction in Macedonia?

MINEVSKI: There are enough publishers, even too much, but lack quality editions. After the collapse of the big national publishing houses, they were replaced by many small publishers who seem to care only for the donations from the Ministry of culture. They take the money, print certain number of copies paid by the state, and that’s it. They don’t take care of the market, the bookstores and the readers. One of these publishers earns ten times more than the authors for their novels. On the other hand, the fact is that Macedonian book cannot compete on the market, so for now in my country there isn’t one strictly professional writer, no writer who lives from his writing.

Dalkey Archive Press : Do you want your work to be translated? Why or why not?

MINEVSKI:  I believe that there isn’t any writer, especially writer who writes in a small language, who doesn’t want his work to be translated. The writer desires reader who doesn’t know him. The writer doesn’t write his letter knowing the address where it will be sent. The writer sends his creation without an address, knowing that one day it will reach the reader he desired. Everything that’s good should be good for everybody. Indeed, if man as god’s creation is no good, then the mistake is not only in the creation.

Dalkey Archive Press: Given a choice, would you prefer a faithful, literal translation of your work or an interpretive re-imagining of it? Why?
    
MINEVSKI: I prefer good translation, meaning translation that will be faithful to the words and to the idea also. I would choose translation that respects the author, but does not disgrace the translator too. Because the author can always make reference to the original, but the translator to his own translation only.